


The Hunt of the Unicorn

by letmetellyousomething



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood and Violence, Courtly Love, Drunk Roxy, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Incest, Intrigue, M/M, Medievalstuck, Middle Ages, Minor Jake English/Dirk Strider, Minor Roxy Lalonde/Dirk Strider, Not Beta Read, One-Sided Relationship, POV Dirk Strider, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5713219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyousomething/pseuds/letmetellyousomething
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medieval AU, early 15th century. <br/>Dirk Strider, the bastard son of the royal commander, falls into disgrace after his illicit affair with Jake English is discovered. </p><p>While he tries to uncover the castle's secrets he slowly falls for his father's favorite knight, Sir David of Derse.<br/>Dirk needs to decide who he wants to be and whom he can entrust himself to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start of the Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to finish a long, overarching story with multiple chapters this year. We'll see if it is this one.

"Heh, what is delaying you there at the back?"  
  
Dirk peered up from under his hood. One of the riders had turned his steed around to hassle the tail of the travel party, which was compromised of the feeling soul of a monk and Dirk himself. The weather was dreary enough to make it seem like night-time was already upon them. No wonder that he wanted their party to hurry up.

Dirk turned to the monk, urging him with a look to speak on his behalf and explain. He had been forced to make due by riding slower to ease the strain on his back. 

"This youth is ailing," the man said, somehow sounding accusing and groveling at the same time. 

The knight looked him over from the lofty position of his horse. Dirk raised his chin defiantly. Finally the knight's eyes lit up in acknowledgement, evidently recognizing his fair hair and the crooked shape of his nose. He looked over his shoulder at the moving procession of the travel party. 

Dirk thought he knew him. What was his name again? He was a favorite of his father's, who had bestowed him with land and orchards westwards from here.   
  
"What are you doing here?" The man asked.  
  
Dirk knew that the monk shared the same curiosity, but didn't want to confide in either of them. Alas, he wasn't beyond a bitter feeling of gratification that his position at the very back was called into question, when he should have occupied his rightful place at the head of the party. Furthermore he had been forced to ride when his wounds had barely scraped over. He could already feel that the wounds on his lower back had reopened. 

"It does not concern you," he said finally. "I will keep up from now on, Sir David of Derse."   
  
The knight raised an eyebrow under his cap. It was hard to tell if he believed his claim, or was surprised at being called by his title, but he let them pass his steed by the side of the road.

 

Since the monk had sought their company he had given Dirk haughty words of reprimand as only comfort: that he should take his penance with grace and think of what he had done, that the bleeding heart of a father shows mercy in just punishment - and more in the same vein. He had concluded the lecture with the assertion that physical punishment wasn't all there was to absolution and that he should entrust himself to clerical advice. 

Dirk had reminded him that a monk wasn't a priest and therefore not qualified to take his confession, not even in the Alternian church order. This had brought a welcome lull in the conversation between them.  
  
Sir David knew better how to divert him from the pain and his brooding about Jake, now that he rode close behind them whenever the road allowed it. Dirk asked him a few question about his estate, but the knight took on most of the talking. He was grateful for it, despite of the tales he chose to tell. Under better circumstances he would have found fault in being treated to silly stories like a child when he was already seventeen.  

"Lad, do not doubt me," Sir David said after seeing him shake his head. 

"I guess these loggerheads of jesters had that one real attraction they could boast with- a camel. It had two hunches and long toes. They apparently brought it from far away and it looked very tired, having gone such a long way. But really, in the end it was rather ordinary? It was not any more extraordinary than a sheep or a horse, of which I guess it could be called a chimera. See, now you must credit me for not embellishing the story, because if I had done so, it would have become a legendary beast akin to a unicorn."  
  
"Unicorn are supposedly native in our lands," Dirk remarked. "They have endured on the peninsula and spread from there, have they not?"  
  
"Yea. I have seen one myself. We share it with the neighbor, a bit like a shy holy cow that will go hither and thither."  
  
"Now, Sir, I know you will not mind the correction of an expert, but really no cow should be called holy, even as a figure of speech and especially in the proximity of a fresh faced youngster who clearly thirsts for knowledge. Why would you want to sabotage a fine young man's education by recounting falsehoods like that?" said the monk, gaining the confidence to speak because of the knight's easy-going address. He seemed to recall a crucial passage about golden statues and calves and so on.  
  
"Oh, maybe it is, friar. We will call a female deer a cow. Are not many animals cows of a kind? I am sure one or another was holy too, because I can recall Christ being a lamb at least once. Besides a unicorn is not actually a cow, it has far too many joints for that."

The two resorted to a parry that didn't cover much ground. Dirk greatly enjoyed such stubborn discussions for the sport of it, especially when it treated the words as if they had a greater meaning than their subject.

 

Still, as their journey carried on he could hardly keep up. He thought dimly that it was unusual that they should keep travelling when they could be attacked by robbers under the cover of darkness, which was why the Alternian monk had joined them.

He suspected that the lashing of his back had been just the first part of his punishment and that the journey on horseback really was the second. His hands cramped from holding up his weight. The mule kept getting annoyed with his uncomfortable position. By now his blood soaked through his leather riding pants.

They only stopped at a clearing long after the moon had risen. By then cold sweat was plastering Dirk's bangs to his brow. The clearing was covered in tall, dark risp grass that was quickly trampled between them as the group reeled itself up and began to dismount.  Dirk didn't want to let on his relief, but the sympathetic nod the knight gave him raised a giddy smile from him.

"What are you doing here?"

This time the question was not addressed at him. His father the royal commander and his right hand had come up on them. The resemblance of relation between Dirk and the commander was remarkable, despite of his advanced age; and even though Dirk wasn't going to reach his height and bulk. The man at his side looked even smaller in comparison, although his round bald head still stood out. 

"Sire, we left the back unprotected from robbers," Sir David said with a tone almost as nonchalant as the speech he had directed at Dirk before.

The commander shook his head slightly. Dirk, unable to read him, darted a glance at Doctor Scratch. He had lived with him for most of his life, until four years ago when he had been admitted to study under Jade Harley herself. The Doctor had folded his arms behind his back, apparently content to watch.  
  
"You went. Against my words." The commander had a jerky way of speaking.

You do wrong by me, Dirk protested bitterly in his mind, while keeping his expression blank. I would have made you proud if you had given me a chance. It is barely a vice at all. But he didn't utter a word out loud and the knight still thought he was being accused. 

"Yea, just so, but I thought-"  
  
"You tricked. Him. Do you think. He would want to be seen in your company?" the commander, now turning directly towards Dirk.  
  
Dirk remained silent. It was the same painstaking silence he had kept up when he had been lashed and questioned. He could feel the eyes of the travel party on him, although the commander had hardly raised his voice. He wondered how many of them knew. But he would endure this humiliation as well.

He tried to sit up straighter under the commander's gaze. The strain made his legs visibly shake. From the corner of his eye he could see that Sir David was leaning down towards a man on foot who was undoubtedly letting him in on the nature of the youth he had taken pity on. 

Dirk couldn't bear it anymore and lowered his gaze in defeat. After a while he could hear the starting bustle of movement, but he still didn't look up until he was sure.

 

There was nobody to help him when Dirk dismounted, so he struggled not to fall from his mule. 

Soon, he promised himself, soon he would be reunited with Jake. He would think back to this very moment and feel nothing at all.


	2. The Castle in the Morning

He must have passed out, because Dirk was certain that he would have remembered the ascent to the castle otherwise.  
  
It had been days since the forced ride and their arrival. He had yet to see the castle in the daytime. For now he had been put up in a side room to a bigger bedchamber, judging by the enormous iron studded door that led to it. This door was locked at all times. Or at least he had never seen it opened.

Someone brought him a bowl of soup and bread once a day through another door. Dirk was fine with not joining the others in the Great hall for meals. He doubted that he would have been able to sit through them.  
  
Dirk had always enjoyed good health to a fault. Even Jake, who liked to be outside in any wind and weather and who was so robust that he hadn't needed to learn to avoid falling and tumbling down hillsides, trees and horses, got sniffles every other thaw season. Once he had been afflicted by a fever so severely that his grandmother had cursed out loud and left the sick-room to collect herself.  
  
Now Dirk didn't know what to do with himself until his wounds were healed. He was sure that he would have preferred another dozen lashes over this damned inactivity, but that of course would have meant having to recuperate again.  
  
The only advantage of it being a drafty chamber was that it had an open window, so that he could read during the day. Later he asked the man who brought the soup for candles, but he only shrugged and scratched a fresh bruise on his face.

At first Dirk had been careful while reading the birch bark manuscripts. He hid them on his body and held them close enough to conceal them in case someone came in who could recognize them for what they were. Soon he believed that they had dismissed him, aside from the need to feed him, so he read them openly.  
  
These were notes he had slipped to his companion, with Jake's answer on the back. Most of them were Dirk's urgent inquiries for secret meetings (which involved love-making) and for tests and tokens of Jake's affection. Thoughts which were easier to write down than to say, either because of their audacity or their honesty. There hadn't been much need to write letters of course, but even if they would have spent much time apart Dirk knew Jake to be a lazy writer (he read, but preferred scribes). Or rather sceptical of the benefit in confiding in the written word.  
  
Rereading their written exchanges was less reassuring than he had hoped.

After a while he just held the notes up to stare at Jake's handwriting.

 

  
The room couldn't hold Dirk anymore on the morning of the fourth day. After trying the servant's door and then the iron studded door he found himself locked in. That was new, but in a way it wasn't. He had been a lot younger when he had been taught to leave through locked door, cellar windows and over roof tops, but he had kept practicing these skills.

He shoved the trunk underneath the window and pulled himself up. Large boulders littered the field outside, with paths to and from the castle threading around them. After pulling himself through the deep window and sticking his head out he could see some farm plots that cowered in the wake of the thick walls. The next square tower was seven foot to his left.  
  
Dirk touched the ground when landing on his feet. His legs showed that pesky wont of shaking again.

He leaned against the cool wall and put his head back.

Most windows still showed no flicker of light at this time of the day and the broken battlements were a jagged line against the sky. The lair of his father sure was impressive.  
  
"You climbed down that wall," observed someone. 

Dirk turned. He had thought that he had seen nobody down here, but they must have sneaked up on him, on the trail around the tower.  
  
"How did you get through that window?" asked Sir David of Derse. He was carrying a basket of apples.  
  
The wind was blowing around the castle and the day was overcast, but compared to the twilight of the forest he could see him well now. He had already noticed that he was tall and dark-skinned, but now he was supplied with such details as clear eyes, thick hair and a wry expression about his mouth. He wasn't as handsome as the man Jake promised to become, but he was pleasant to look at.  
  
If Dirk had never met Sir David again he might have grown to hate him for being such a indulgent witness of his lapse of strength in that night.  
  
"It is not that difficult once you get your head through," he said, pushing away from the wall.  
  
"Huh. Like a snake."  
  
That wasn't a flattering comparison, but Dirk was used to being watched with reluctance. "Sire, if you do not mind the question, what are you carrying those apples for?"  
  
The knight looked down at the basket.  
  
"There was a misunderstanding. I asked in the kitchen for apples, but then some fellows of theirs thought while running off on their spiraling legs, I guess the good loyal people on this rock live off nothing but the knowledge that they have fed my paunch with all their october apples."  
  
"So?"  
  
Sir David held the basket out to Dirk, thrusting it at him absent-mindedly when he hesitated until he took one of the small, red apples. "So I paid them a visit and coins, ensuring myself the rest of that splendid harvest while I was at it," he said, watching Dirk bite into the sweet fruit.  
  
Dirk looked over the land. Strategically the castle was well-placed. You could see far into all directions. However the next market must have been many miles away.  
"That is good of you, Sire. Do you think they have much use for money in these parts?"  
  
Now Sir David was actually paying heed to what he said - and looking at him. An enjoyable shiver ran down Dirk's spine.    
  
"If they travel they might, until then the goodwill of the castle dwellers is their best currency." He took another bite. "This is a good apple though."  
  
"If they travel," Sir David repeated, glancing over Dirk's shoulder and added, "You are keen-witted." Dirk thought hard about what to reply, unsure if it was a good move to agree. The knight's friendliness might have been a handout, something borne by his sense of obligation... Yet Dirk wanted to prolong their conversation.  
  
"Have you seen that Alternian monk again?" The knight asked suddenly.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The monk who travelled with us. He led your mule by the bridle when you fell asleep."  
  
"Oh. No, I have not," Dirk said.  
  
"I guess not. That is alright. He probably continued his journey, let us hope he got on alright."

The knight gave a nod to him when Dirk didn't reply. Dirk only bowed to him when he was already passing him.  
  
He allowed himself to lean against the wall once more when he had seen him vanish around the next tower. He turned the apple core in his hand and threw it away when he couldn't find another bite on it. He felt the wind more keenly now, since nobody was shielding him from it anymore.

 

Dirk followed the beaten track to the castle gate. He planned to find his way back to his room and demand an explanation for being locked in. The guards at the gate gave him a wary look but let him through. Most likely it had been one of Doctor Scratch's tests, he mused as he crossed the yard.

In that moment someone threw their arms around his neck and pulled him backwards before he could utter more than a choked cry.

Sir David of Derse wasn't the last person to get the better of him that morning.


	3. The Devil You Know

On the morning of the fourth day after his arrival Dirk had yet to see the castle in the day light.  
  
However he had already seen it by night.  
He didn't know what had awoken him. What he did know was that Jake was dying. He was bound to be in one of the many rooms of the castle. Dirk pushed himself off the bench and staggered towards the servant's door. They hadn't believed Dirk's testimony and Jake was suffering for it. 

Why was his blood so sluggish when he had to hurry? 

It was dark in the hallway. He could hear distant laughter, bawling and chimes either from coins, cups or blades. And there was also, more disturbingly, a humming in his own chest.  
  
Dirk held onto the wall. He went ahead through the hallways and teared doors open. All of the rooms were empty, bared except for drapes of spider web and the remains of former inhabitants. Jake was still out there, possibly in the dungeon of the castle, or detained in a a bedchamber? At least Dirk's body obeyed him now. His foot steps barely echoed at all.  
  
Despite not encountering a single soul Dirk was sure that the castle was full of young people. They were the distant, noisy crowd. Jake's torture was part of their decadence.

Dirk was their member, cut off from the heavenly, unmutable stasis -

Somebody slapped him across the face.

  
"Could you stop muttering about copulation?"

Dirk opened his eyes with difficulty. He was lying on the ground of a green, narrow chamber. The particularities were hard to see because Doctor Scratch was standing over him. His waking mind knew that there was no way that Jake was in the castle; he was in the care of his family. Yet remembering what he had felt with such certainty in his dream still unnerved Dirk.  
  
"How much blood, do you think, does a human contain? I shall hold this neglect against you. Carrying you was quite beneath -"  
  
"Two pottles?"  
  
"Your answer was not required. It is actually three. Now would be a good time to follow my instructions. Drink that."  
  
Doctor Scratch handed him a handsome emerald colored glass cup. Dirk drank from it and instantly struggled to not spew the content over the carpet. His guardian tapped his fingers.

"I wish they had given me a maiden instead of you."  
  
Dirk squinted at him before gulping down the rest. "Maidens do not like to drink fresh blood either."  
  
"No, but she would have been indefinitely more charming while retching. Besides, this refreshment is not merely made of blood."  
  
"So you are still practicing hocus-pocus with stolen hosts?"  
  
He drowned the next cup he was handed. The taste of this salty tea wasn't any more palatable. But he was starting to feel a bit better. The warmth of the room and the liquid had benefitted the balance of his humors -for now. He expected to sit out the aftereffects in the garderobe later.  
  
"I see you are in another one of your moods of perfunctory rebellion. We will have to work on correcting this behavior before you meet your true master."  
  
"You mean my father?" Dirk asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Who is my true master then? Does that mean I am serving a fake master right now?"  
  
An unpleasant thought occurred to him and he added more firmly, "I already carried out my function four years ago."  
  
"Oh that? I am not telling you."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because that piece of knowledge would not fit elegantly into the arrangement of our exchange at this moment."  
  
Dirk knew from experience that Doctor Scratch would dismiss him now, so he looked around for an exist.

The room only had one big door and a spiral staircase in one corner. The furniture wasn't adjusted to Scratch's height like it had been in the cottage Dirk had been raised in. Despite being decked out in rich dark wood and green cloth the use of such a narrow room was unclear to him.  
  
"What are you still doing here? Proceed to the stairs." Scratch had turned his back on him.

Dirk had imagined this meeting before, this chance to have the last word. He had pictured himself declaring that his loyalty lied elsewhere now, at the feet of somebody worthier. And while he was at it he would have renounced any obligation he had to Doctor Scratch.  
  
Of course he had been a child back then. The man's investment in him was the best leverage he had.  
  
Nobody in the castle knew him better. So Dirk climbed the stairs and somehow found his way back to his own room.

 

 

Locking him in after that night of sleep walking had most likely been one of Doctor Scratch's tests, Dirk mused as he crossed the yard a few days later. In that moment someone threw their arms around his neck. They pulled him backwards, squeezing him with considerate strength.

Dirk side-stepped into their arm, balled his fist and struck his attacker in the nether region.  
  
"Aie! What the devil, Diede?" His attacker wheezed. "Is this how you greet me?"  
  
Roxana - because it must have been her- needed a moment to unbent, while Dirk lingered next to her. It had been inappropriate of her to embrace him from behind, but to hit her was even worse. If only this had been an actual attack on his life, he could have dealt with that.  
  
"No, do not fall all over yourself to assist me, I am fine. I hope your aim will be truer once you marry!" She laughed, which somehow didn't insult him, but instead put him at ease.  
  
"So you recognize me?" He asked.  
  
Her hair had gotten darker, but her face was easy to recall. Her features had already been striking back then, even among the gang of children that bundled around her.  
  
"Of course I do. It is not my _habitude_ to surprise strangers from behind!"  
  
"We might as well be strangers. It has been almost a decade," Dirk pointed out and added, "...It is nice to cross paths again."  
  
She turned to her chaperon. Going by the lady's expression she had not gotten over this outbreak of transgression of good manners as quickly as Roxy.

"Let me introduce you. Milady Jane, this is _maître_  -"  
  
She paused for the instant it took her to glance at him in case he wanted to insert an actual title, but he had to disappoint her. If his father had acknowledged him, he might have been introduced to any station, from a priest to a knight on the rise, but alas.  
  
"- Diederek Strider. But he is Diede to me."

"You can call me Dirk," he supplied.  Jake had been the first to call him that. Roxy frowned, then gave a strained sigh.

"Dirk Diede Strider. My good, no, I declare my very good friend!" She said finally.  
  
"This is Lady Jane Crocker. She is very dear to me! I fear she was really set up with an imposter of a noble lady though."

Lady Crocker bowed tentatively. She obviously couldn't consider him her equal just because Roxy had propped him up as hers. Dirk bowed properly.  
  
  
Roxy had not lost her talent of drawing people out. Lady Jane talked mostly to her, but she seemed to enjoy the conversation between them, which reaffirmed their shared interests and memories quickly. After a while some of the soldiers that loitered in the yard got into a demonstrative skirmish to get the ladie's attention, so Roxy decided that they should take a stroll to the pleasure gardens.  
  
"If you do not mind my asking, why did you two come here? This castle is more of a garrison now," Dirk remarked. The walk was exhausting him.  
  
"Yea, well. It is all thanks to my mother. She was fed up to the back teeth with me and my sociable ways! I dare say she wanted me to be more ambitious after all the studying I did. But what is a maiden supposed to do? Should I join a nunnery? She would not want that for her daughter.  
  
Sir Derse's estate is _magnifique_ , but the company was lacking when he had to go out. He is one of the castle wards here, so we knew where to find him."

  
"The journey was most assuredly not boring," Lady Jane said. "The sights were very nice."  
  
"He was not pleased with me when he arrived. Oh well! The commander welcomed us and our quarters are very becoming for what they are."  
  
"I arrived here with their travel company," said Dirk.  
  
"Oh? Have you seen him? What do you think of Sir Derse?"  
  
He considered the question. 

"He must be a decorous knight and capable warrior, but what I saw of him demonstrated mildness. Hence a lady with suitable will force should be able to impose her will on him."  
  
Roxy seemed pleased with the answer and plucked some herbs. "Hmmh, and what about you?"  
  
"What about me?" Dirk stalled. 

He could withhold the reason why he had to break off his tutelage under Jade Harley if she wanted to know what his lot in life had been. Still, to know that she would be disappointed on his behalf was bitter. 

 

  
Roxy gave him a heavy-lidded smile and raised the rosemary to her nose.

"Can a lady like me impose her will on you?" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) a medieval "garderobe" was used as a cloak room and as toilet, often adjoined to the solar. the pee smell was supposed to help against flees.
> 
> 2) pardon my french. French loanwords were fashionable in Europe and showed your nobility at the time, so I thought some sprinkles of ironic French would be a semi-accurate substitute for Roxy's colloquialisms. tell me if it doesn't works for you.
> 
> 3) changed the parchments to birch bark manuscripts in chapter 2. parchment would have been too expensive.


	4. The Ambition to Lead a Quiet Life

"Can a lady like me impose her will on you?" Roxy gave him a heavy-lidded smile and raised a twig of rosemary to her nose.

  
There was no way to tell her that this sort of charm was applied in vain because he liked men and only men. Especially when they happened to have nice hair, shapely buttocks, green eyes... etcetera. Dirk glanced at Lady Jane who pretended to take an interest in a trimmed box-tree instead of chaperoning anyone. 

Roxy had introduced him to her with his last name, Strider. The girl of seven or eight years that he had known her as, the one that had plotted raids on cloister gardens, told stories or invented complicated games with sticks with him- she would not have cared to remember his last name.  
She must have gained information about him in the meantime. Was she hoping to gain influence through him?

"...I have no war-horse, which would be necessary for the horsemanship that gives a knight's chivalry its _chival_. I might one day, although they have limited use outside a battle field. Suppose I had the choice I would probably go with a courser over a destrier. Overall I would prefer a palfrey for riding," he said to give himself time.  
  
"The lack of such a beast leaves me unbound by the same code of conduct that Sir Derse adheres to, which, together with his personality, will leave him susceptible to a lady's coaxing."  
  
Roxy rubbed the rosemary between her fingers. "Pooh! Having a stallion between his legs is not his only reason to listen to me!"  
  
They fell quiet. She hadn't pressed him further, so he could avoid making any promises. Yet he knew that he had already been seduced. If a person like her could be his friend he would feel better about himself.

"That said, I have my own pride. And I am your friend. So I will throw in my lot with you," he said, turning to her.

They exchanged a searching look, before she smiled. "Oh? _Très bien_ , I will take your word for it!"

 

  
Dirk might have worried more about the expectation on such a promise during the coming week, if it hadn't been for two reasons.  
  
One was that he saw Roxy and Lady Jane almost every day from now. It couldn't escape them that Dirk was not set up like a noblemen, although the cut of his clothes were that of a rich man's son. Yet that didn't deter them.  
  
The second reason was that the servant who had brought his food failed to show up the day after that. Dirk decided against trying to join the meals in the Great hall. Nobody had given him a official sign of welcome.  
  
He rove around the castle, the surrounding farms and fields and the meadows beyond that. On Sunday he walked all the way to the forest edge. He caught a bird and found berries which he ate sitting beneath the bushes while watching the road to the castle.

He hadn't needed to provide for himself like that for years. At least nowadays people were more inclined to give him half a day's work here and there, mostly on the vineyards and once to repair a stone wall.   
  
The owner wanted to pay him off with money after promising him bread. They valued their oats even more than their coins here, which was no surprise seeing as how much the garrison wrung from them. Wagons full of barrels with beer and pickled vegetables (by the looks of it) and procession of cattle were delivered every week to the castle and yet some of the soldiers still loitered around the farm houses.  
  
He had seen the food serving for the garrison one evening after he had squandered away the day with his new companions instead of poaching rabbits. Usually he avoided bigger groups of soldiers. That he kept Lady Jane's and Roxy's company hadn't gone unnoticed. And who knew what had trickled through about his relationship with Jake.  
  
They got a jug of beer and porridge with no meat. Be that as it may, a daily ration did look pretty good to him right now.  
  
One of the soldiers yelled after him just when he turned away from the view. The man picked up a stone like he had all the time in the world and tossed it at him. Dirk saw that it would miss and let it roll before his feet. The man's friends guffawed. Dirk stared at him and committed his appearance to his memory.  
  
On that night he could only sneak into the castle kitchen to fend off his hunger. Fortunately one of the younger cookmaids, the one who pulled down her cap every time she saw him look at her, gave him twice-baked bread soaked in soup to eat.

At this rate he was going to starve slowly while trying to avoid soldiers until his fine clothes were worn off.  
  
  
  
"Alright, you have mastered the basic backstitch. I dare say you are very focused for a boy of your age!"  
  
They were sitting on the benches beneath the big windows in the Great hall. Roxy was looking out into the upper courtyard with a frown on her face.

Jane (by then he had stopped calling her a lady in his mind) was controlling his stitches.  
  
"Do you know many boys my age?" He asked instead of pointing out that he had been born in the year of the comet, just like Roxy.

"Well, I have a dear little brother! I would not burden him with needlework though."  
  
"Naturally." Dirk started to unpick his practice piece.  
  
Jane coughed slightly. "He is very ...fidgety. Let me show you the next stitch!"

Dirk nodded. Jane had grown up sheltered. Thoroughly bred for the position of a noblewomen with an enormous dowry. But she liked to make up her own mind, which was an advantage around people like Roxy or him, who had a more loose upbringings. 

  
Suddenly Roxy called them, "Lo! Come here, they are holding a tournament!"  
  
Jane stood up to join her at the window, while Dirk peered out of the next. A dozen men-at-arms had formed a ten feet wide circle, leaving the two combatants standing in the middle.

One of the two was Sir David of Derse. He wore an arming doublet that left his throat bare. The other man was Sir Walter, an older knight of some merit, although he was more known for his verses. Even more men were standing back to watch. 

"Which wrestling rules are they following in these parts?" Asked Jane.  
  
"It is wrasslin, right? Hug a man or women close... grab them by the tail or the belt... whoops!"   
  
Jane dodged Roxy's demonstration of a shoulder throw, "I know, but consider kicks! And whether gaining the grip of someone's wrist or finger is permissible in this wrasslin match."  
  
Dirk searched the courtyard. Sure enough, the royal commander was the referee. Someone had brought him a simple chair on which he sat with his arms braced against his legs. His bearing was that of keen judgment. Dirk hadn't caught sight of him since their arrival. His attention was only drawn away from him when the crowd commented the fight with cheer and cautious laughter.  
  
It should have been foolish to measure up to an older knight with more training before his body declined. Yet Sir David of Derse managed it.

A touch here and there, the raised eyebrows when Sir Walter moved in for a grapple...

It was subtle, but Sir David was making a mockery of his opponent. Nevertheless he grabbed Sir Walter at the knee bend to lift his leg- and threw him flat on his back. It was the typical Ott's counters that allowed someone to throw a stronger opponent and Dirk wondered if it had been a purposeful gesture. The possibility excited him.   
  
There was some confusion over whether they would continue to fight for points, but both men bowed instead. Roxy shouted and Dirk and Jane clapped their hands. Sir Walter wiped his brow and moved out of the middle to entrust himself to his retainers. Yet Sir David remained.  
  
"Do you think they were settling a quarrel?" Jane asked. She liked Sir David, but had taken to Sir Walter's moustache in the past.  
  
"No, it looks like he is going to fight again," said Dirk.

 

This time the fight was over swiftly. The knight used the first opening to tackle the other man, one of the merchants' captains out of the cirlce. The man joined the watching crowd, with his head still bowed.

Sir David's shoulders hunched up more and more with every fight. Otherwise his technique spoke of a level of mastery that made whatever lack of fighting spirit that Dirk fancied to sense unnecessary anyway.

He liked watching him. 

He dealt with his opponents one at a time or in a pair of two. After the fourth victory in a row the crowd grew quiet and the opponents stood up without any boasting. Sir David no longer doled out redundant movements or jests.   
  
After the sixth match he bowed like always and then withdrew wordlessly to stand behind the bulk of combatants. Dirk saw him cast a fleeting glance at the royal commander while another knight took his place in the middle. The pull between them was obvious. It had been a demonstration for his father's sake, or one at his demand. And Sir David could have pushed himself further if he had wanted to.  
  
Dirk blinked. The fighting had stirred his blood - and a few other things - in him.

He took off his shoes and pushed them beneath the bench. "Pray, can you mind my things for a while?"

Jane gave him a questioning look.

 

He would bide his time until Sir David returned for one more round of demonstration fights. 

If not then Dirk would find another way to challenge the knight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Every knight wanted a majestic Great Horse, aka a destrier. Coursers were less expensive though and faster. Palfreys were comfortable to ride thanks to a smooth special gait called ambling, but unfit for battle.
> 
> 2) Ott Jud ("Ott the Jew") was a 15th-century Austrian martial arts master and probably the authority on wrestling and grappling. His techniques were widely referenced for the next two hundred years.


	5. The Suggestion of War

After taking stock of the options Dirk squatted down next to three younger men-at-arms.

One of them glanced over his shoulder at him. His eyes fell on the dry _panis biscoctus_ Dirk was taking bites from. Dirk reached into his doublet and showed him a loaf of bread without stopping his own meal.

The boy turned his head again, feigning to follow the fight for a while before he reached back with one hand. Dirk plucked off some of the bread and put into his cupped hand. He watched as he quickly stuffed the stolen food into his mouth. His head was shaved and scabbed. Scrawny.

"What is your name?"

"Why d'you want to know?"

"Let us fight together. I am versed in battle."

"Yea? Are you from one of the farms around here?" the boy asked. 

Dirk wouldn't have admitted it, but he knew he looked the part of a farmer's son. Few dared to remember, but his father, the royal commander, was of humble birth.

"Who says peasants are not versed in battle." Dirk flicked his fingers to get rid of a few crumbs.

The boy frowned and remained silent. Dirk was about to address him again when he said, "I suppose we can scratch each other's back. My name is Sherman. I am actually trained with the bow, you see."

Dirk nodded. Archers were often the younger offspring of minor gentry family who couldn't afford to provide them with sword and shield. Or maybe Sherman had run away to join the garrison himself. It hardly mattered.

 

The circle of men-at-arms whose skill and might was left untested had thinned out by now. Many of them were fighting in pairs, despite of the contemptuous remarks some earned for it. The garrison captain who had won the last two matches wasn't an impressive sight. The crowd's attention had dwindled. But his father was still watching the matches and that was all what mattered to him. 

 

Dirk observed Sir David intently, mulling over what he knew about him.

He had been kind to Dirk; he was chivalrous; Dirk remembered distantly that he had been a member of the royal commander's household and apparently a favorite ever since.

There was no way to win out over an older knight before his body gave in to the decay of age. Yet Sir David had managed just that: he had defeated Sir Walter. Of course that merely meant that Sir David of Derse, with his maybe two decades, had trained more than his opponent.

Not that this victory condition mattered to Dirk. He hadn't been trained to fight like a knight.

 

Sherman scratched his neck and told him after a while, "Might as well..."

"Let us wait until the next round." The commander had beckoned Sir David over, biding him with a nod to the circle. He looked even more wearied after his body had cooled from his first round of fights. 

Dirk placed a hand on Sherman's shoulders when the knight took over from the man in the middle. He had to keep himself from pulling the boy up when he sprang to his foot before anyone else could take the first fight.

 

Sir David didn't show any surprise at Dirk challenging him, he didn't even move his head. Dirk could see that he was eyeing Sherman instead, wondering if he was who he appeared to be.

He had taken a few steps forward, unaware of the fact that Dirk was still standing at the outer circle.

 

Dirk relaxed his face and thought about horses.

Thus his fight begun.

He ignored the shoving and comments from behind and took the necessary two steps forward. Just in reach. He held Sir David's gaze with his happily vacant expression.

The knight hesitated. He couldn't afford to lose sight of Sherman, but he knew that was something was up.

Sherman's shaved head turned around and followed the gaze of his opponent.

"Heh, are you co-"

Dirk hit Sherman square in the face.

 

Dirk held out his food bowl. The gallion's provisioner gave him a sour look before she smacked a cradle full of porridge into it. He was about to move on when she reached under the table and handed him an extra pastry. His right hand was still hurting, so he placed the pastry on top of the porridge and wedged his jug of beer in the crook of his elbow. He had stolen enough food from the kitchen before the fight to fortify himself for the day, but the smell of meat filling let his mouth water.

 

The punch threw Sherman off-balance. The boy stumbled forward, not falling over just yet. Dirk twisted around and kicked him against the chest with his bare foot. It was as if he had opened a gate to a screaming horde, as a delayed outcry went through the circle of men around them. Dirk didn't spare them a look.

  
And through all this Sir David of Derse had been just shocked enough to not move. Now he caught Sherman when he fell against him.

Because of course he would.

 

Dirk slipped off around the corner. His new position in the garrison didn't make him more entitled to company while he ate, but for now he didn't miss it. He had a lot to think about and the pastry was calling him. Salt and fat had been woefully missing from his diet. He broke off some of the flakey, buttery crust.

"Dirk!" Roxy spotted him and came to a halt before him before Dirk could put down the pastry.

"My, what was that... I do know how these things go, with two suitors fighting over a fair lady, maybe?" She laughed abruptly. "That would be flattering. But Sir David is my godfather, there is no need to challenge him." 

Dirk's confusion was masked by this announcement. "Your godfather? He does not appear old enough to be your godfather."

Roxy shrugged and cast down her eyes.

" _Bien sûr_... do you think that other lad is alright?" she asked, mind elsewhere. 

 

Dirk hit him again, connecting the heel of his hand with his jaw. Sherman wheezed. There was a crucial moment of confusion, as he struggled against the knight who was trying not to drop him while fending off Dirk's attacks. And confusion was a very suggestible state.

It seemed like Sherman was used to being held down while someone hit him. But the satisfaction of seeing his plan realized outweighed the inkling of scruple Dirk had at noticing that.

David wrestled Sherman out of the circle, all while shielding the boy. Dirk dealt out one, two blunt hits to the side of his head for it. He punched him high-up near the breastbone when he turned around. Not precise enough to knock the wind out of him, but enough to be felt through his arming doublet.

David didn't utter a sound and looked at him with an expression of sullen distaste.

In that moment Dirk realized that his opponent hadn't lost his composure once, despite of the terror he had tried to suggest. He lunged forward. Be fast, bend your knees, get low, use his weight and momentum against him-

The knight caught Dirk's fist. He pulled back, but David held it in place and twisted his hand towards his forearm.

 

"Roxana!" Dirk and Roxy turned to Jane, who was coming towards them. She was out of breath and carrying his shoes. When she saw him she grimaced and dropped them.

Dirk suspected that she would have liked to toss them to the ground instead.

"I thank you for minding my shoes for me." Dirk bent over to pick them up.

"Hrm. Do not expect me to do that again." 

"My apologies for causing you trouble." 

"That child was your ally. He did not deserve your beating!" Jane said after a while. Dirk sat down and pulled his spoon through the porridge.  

"...You will not answer for yourself?" She asked. 

"If that is your real character, then I do not understand- what Roxana sees in you! Farewell!" Jane blurted out before hastening away.

Dirk exchanged a look with Roxy over a spoonful of his porridge. After a moment she shrugged and followed her friend.

 

Dirk grunted in pain, but successfully pulled away before Sir David broke his wrist. He still wasn't out of reach just yet. Dirk continued to retreat; David continued advancing.

His focus swam. He became aware of his surroundings, the expectant crowd right behind him. 

The knight grabbed him, almost tenderly, which put them in the starting position of a one-on-one wrestling match. Dirk had anticipated force to match his, even sharp pain, and struggled to move.

"You sadden me."

His voice was barely loud enough to reach Dirk through the sound of his own thumping heart.

Before he could think his sight toppled over and he was thrown on his back, hitting the dusty ground. He fought blindly to sit up, sudden anger sweeping through him. Their fight wasn't over just yet! He would beat Sir David, force him to forfeit-

Someone pressed a knee to his shoulder. He looked up to the silhouette of the royal commander.

 

"That is enough." The man was already turning away when Dirk scrambled to his feet.

"Report to captain Saintoffa for a position."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) A baptized baby girl had two godmothers and a godfather. The godparents could not be close relatives and marriage between godparents and godchild was forbidden, it was pretty much considered incest.
> 
> 2) We finally got to the first major plot point: Dirk being a dick.


	6. The Unicorn at the Fountain

"I told you it is alright!"  
  
Roxy sprawled under the canopy, a picture of careless grace.  
  
Dirk stood in the door frame of her room. It was indeed furnished comely. Thick, dark curtains, now pulled back from the blinking glass windows, were keeping the early autumn winds out. The walls were hung with mauve tapestries; he decided to take a closer look later. Maybe they could tell him something about the royal commander's taste.   
The mattress at the bed end probably belonged to Jane. It had been a few days since their discord. He had not anticipated the consequences.

  
Roxy and Dirk had to sneak around to meet because Jane disapproved of him.

Without a third person these meetings appeared more improper than before.

And without Jane in particular awkward situations were cropping up between them.

  
Dirk suspected that Roxy didn't get drunk in front of Jane. Or that she had less time to, when she had to split that time between them.

But since then she sometimes didn't water her ale, or drank deep red wine when she was with him. It put her in moods which were either quiet and deeply melancholic or headstrong and flirtatious.

 

"Maybe I should marry you, what says you? I think I would like to marry as early as possible, shepherd... sheperdeshesses are already betrothed when they are fourteen," she proclaimed. 

Or: "We should elope, ride over the vert- verdant border and take vows. _Mais oui_! My mother is wrong about that, of course you would take care of me." This was followed, more enthusiastically, by the description of their future blond and blue-eyed son. 

Whenever she was in one mood he would have preferred the other. 

Then again, who was he to lament? The truth was that he was most comfortable when it was just the two of them. Sometimes Dirk only noticed afterwards that they had been sitting together in companionable silence for a while now, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Not that Roxy would have understood his worries, but with her he felt less alone with them.  

 

Yet her company couldn't console him with the absence of another person that preoccupied his thoughts. 

"Where do you keep your writing tools?" 

Roxy clicked her tongue. "You are so impatient. I bet you are not even going to read the letter out loud when you write it... All you need is in my trunk over there." 

 

* * *

 

_Unto my unique friend G.T., master of games, be this letter delivered._

 

 _I recommend me unto you full heartily, wishing to hear of your welfare, which I beseech the Almighty God, or a similar genius, to preserve unto your pleasure._ _No word of yours has reached me yet, but perhaps it will not be long in coming. Still it has been a full moon since they separated Harmodius and Aristogeiton._

 _You must understand why I cannot stay silent. My body has fully recovered, but forsooth I am not in ideal health of heart, nor shall be till I hear from you._   _Now is not the time for fake humility, my friend._

 _The people are always coming and going from this place and you should find someone you can entrust a letter to me._ _No more to you now, but be it that you are safe and sound._

_I do not need to tell you that this latter should not be seen of an earthly creature save yourself._

 

_By your own T.T._

 

* * *

 

 

Dirk looked over the letter while carefully holding the quill to not let the ink flow out. Roxy had been quiet all this time. 

The words of each sentence had dried before he had finished the next, but he wasn't satisfied with the result. Should he add exclamations of his affection? But who knew who would break the seal before it reached Jake, and in whose company Jake would get to read this letter, even with the fig leaf of aliases in place. At least the reference to Harmodius and Aristogeiton would be unfamiliar to most.

When Dirk had started courting Jake he had fed him with any reference to male lovers he could find in Jade's library.   

So Jake knew the story and the nature of the bond of the tyrannicides well.

He would also remember that Aristogeiton had never betrayed his co-conspirators, even under torture. And neither had Dirk.

 

Someone knocked on the door. Roxy sat up and raised her eyebrows.

Suddenly a young girl was pushed into the room and came to a stumbling halt before the canopy bed. Dirk needed a few moments to recognize the cookmaiden in her who had given him leftovers to eat. Her dress was cleaner, but she still tried to hide her face.

"T-the lady appears to be decent," she said with an apologizing glance at Roxy. That was the signal the men behind the door had been waiting for.

The first was young and loud, from the cough by which he announced himself with to the footsteps with which he treaded on the fine carpet. Dirk had noticed him among Sir Derse's retainers and suspected that "Karkat" was the knight's squire. 

Sir David strolled in after him as if he wasn't the one in charge.  

"Good day. I am dictating a letter to young Diederick here," Roxy explained to Karkat, eyebrows still raised.  

The squire gnashed his teeth and started a long-winded apology, that amounted to "yes, but-". Dirk folded the letter, grateful for her quick thinking. They probably couldn't read, but it was better to be safe. He reached for the wax. 

"Of course the lady's correspondence is sacred," Sir David said and stepped to the dresser he had been writing on.

"As is her private chamber, so if you do not get out of the room promptly... hmmh... I will hang you by the neck under that window until you are dead meat for the crows."

The room lapsed into an awkward silence.

 

Then Roxy piped up, "Pardon Sire, whatever is that warning for? It is normal for a lady to attend to her friend in her quarters-"

"I gave Lady Jane notice that you will be awaiting her."

Dirk and Roxy exchanged looks. He shrugged and complied in no hurry, shoving the parchment into his doublet. 

"Just leave the letter here. Lady Roxana can finish it herself," Sir David reminded him.

Dirk's stomach fell. He put the letter down and followed the other men. Well, neither of the ladies knew that he had been forbidden from contacting a man called "Jake English", so only the secrecy of the aliases could catch their eyes. 

He would make a detour over the yard once they let him out of sight and sneak back to Roxy's room, before her curiosity won out...

 

 

But Sir David's squire planted himself in front of him before he could duck out. 

"By cock's bones! I have been looking all over for you. You are coming with me!"

Dirk risked a questioning look at Sir David, but he was staring impassively ahead. Alright. Karkat was just starting out as squire and still two fingers smaller than Dirk. 

"Your name is Karkat, is it not? What business do you have with me?"

 

Karkat took a deep breath. "Hark, man! First of all you need to shut your wretched beak, because do I look like a fool you can hawk your less than white dog shit to?

To you I shall be Master Vantas. It is beneath me to go after philandering air bags, but I was asked by the commander himself to bring you to him, so make haste."

 

"There is no need to escort me. I will go freely to Sir  _Diederick_ , whenever he asks for me," said Dirk. 

It had to be said that Vantas regained his composure quickly after he understood that they were namesakes.

 

"Then make yourself easier to find for those who carry out his will! They have been waiting in the solar!"   

 

Dirk bowed (exaggerating the movement just a little) and walked ahead. The way took them through dim hallways and down the stairs to the Great hall. He should brace himself for the meeting. They might review his service under captain Saintoffa, or provide him with better gear. Like a sword. Dirk really wanted to carry a sword again. 

He would have approached Sir David before, but he couldn't think of a way to address what was bothering him. Nobody else had heard that he had whispered "You sadden me" into Dirk's ear just before he had ended their fight.

Instead he listened for the footsteps behind him. Was Sir David still just following along to talk to his squire? 

"It does you service that you did not expect him there," said the knight just now.

"Praised be my virtue, but I would not have dared to enter by myself," Vantas grumbled.

Sir David hummed sympathetically. Dirk glanced over his shoulder, annoyed.

 

"Take heart," for a moment Sir David's eyes flickered over to Dirk.

"I will make sure that you learn the proper formalities, now that you are among your peers, Vantas. These things are quite rightly important. Good men have exiled over minute sensibilities like wearing the wrong cap. You have to be able to tell at a glance who you are talking to and address them as such. 

For example, take this youth. Look how he walks, he has been raised with a noble pole up his  _derrière_. Make sure to address him with due reverence. "Your highness" should do for a prince."

 

Vantas swallowed his laughter when Dirk turned around to face the knight. 

"Sire, I am sorry if you felt so betrayed by my actions," Dirk pointedly fixed his eyes on the man's temple. The bruise was beginning to fade and his dark complexion masked it, but it was still visible.

"Do you think it wise or gracious to bear such a grudge? You came out as the winner, after all."

Sir David paused and frowned. They were standing in the Great hall now. Servants were clearing the mid-day table, starkly illuminated by the row of tall windows. 

 

"Jesus' mercy... Do not mistake my past charity for faith in your character. There was no trust for you to betray to begin with."

 

"Alas, my charge does trust you," Sir David went on when Dirk said nothing.

"You might not value Lady Roxana's reputation, even to rely on her aid. You have been stealing from the kitchen, when she is renowned for feeding even the littlest sinner that opens their hands. Very generous, that lady. Her friends worry for her all the more." 

Dirk stared at him, uncertain whether he was mocking him. "Why should I ask to be a burden on anyone?" Vantas huffed doubtfully. Sir David averted his eyes.

"'Tis foolish stage play. I am getting tired of my own role in it, are you not?" he said, walking past him. "Do not trouble her, that is all."

 

Dirk followed him, bristling. 

"Sire, you express your disdain for the foolishness of theatrics. And yet you shove me into an morality play before I get a fair hearing.

Tell me, how does begging for alms make me worthier of anyone's company? Or did you decide so because I outwitted you?" They had reached the end of the hall. 

 

"Yea, you are far too keen-witted for me," Sir David lowered his voice when Vantas caught up.

"Worry not, I already applied for your fair chance a week ago. Who would be more suitable to vouch for your character than the English family? I believe their answer should arrive soon."

 

And with that he pushed the door to the solar open. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Reading would have been done out loud. When people started to read (and write) silently it was considered suspicious behavior, although by the 15th century it started to become the norm for readers who could also write. Let's say it's a sign of Roxy's impressive and unusual education that she even has writing tools.
> 
> 2) Album graecum, white dog poop, is just regular dog poop that has been exposed to air long enough. People mixed it with honey and used it against sore throats, or plasters to close and heal wounds. Not that you needed to know that. Also used to dress leather. 
> 
> 3) Most people were named after a god-parent, a parent or another close relative. These "namesakes" were often chosen for their wealth and status.


	7. The Fear of God

"Come hither," said Doctor Scratch.

Dirk stepped out of the shadows clinging to the walls into the warm glow of the fireplace. He had been given plenty of time to appreciate the royal commander's taste by looking around. The bed, the collection of glinting swords and weapons over the fireplace, the disarray: they bode familiarity. As if he might grow into the place.

Of course Doctor Scratch knew his erstwhile impatience.

"I thank you for granting me a position under your leadership, lord high constable," Dirk said to the royal commander and put his right knee to the ground.

The commander bowed his head a little, catching the reflection of the fire in his blank eyes. He was the only man sitting, Doctor Scratch was standing at a podium. Annoyingly Sir David hadn't left the room with his squire after he had announced his task. Instead he had slunk away to pour himself wine. His presence felt like an itch Dirk couldn't reach.

After all the commander had objected to Sir David - or rather, Sir Derse - associating with him just a few weeks ago, lest it damaged his reputation. Yet Dirk had been called into the solar, the heart of the castle, instead of the green liver that was Doctor Scratch's apartment.

 

"I hope you know why you are here," Doctor Scratch mumbled a warning. Before Dirk had been apprenticed to Jade English he would have done something hasty now. Instead he distracted himself by silently conjugating greek verbs.

The wood stump in the fireplace crackled.

"You stole perfectly comestible food from the kitchen. Such a crime is a menace to order and society, as well as an insult to divine majesty." He could hear how Scratch drew a self-assured line on the parchment.

That explained Sir Derse's accusation from earlier. But how could he have known that the bread Dirk had eaten and shared out before his fight had been stolen?

"Whose words stand against mine? I can say that I have worked in the vineyard." 

"A cookmaiden said so," said the commander.

 

Dirk glanced away from the knight. That explained her sudden promotion to a personal servant of the ladies. Or at least to a scout for squire Vantas.

"...I am your own thief. De jure you could have me killed already for other delicti," he shrugged, although he could not fool his own turning stomach. If the knight desired it then they could justify cutting off a hand of his, an ear or the tip of his nose for stealing that bread. They would peel the offense off him along with his skin. The commander said nothing.

 

"I will not accuse you of thoughtless leniency. You want me to de facto sustain my life, even if it means eating your bread," he succumbed and turned to Doctor Scratch for an answer. "I will apologize for getting caugh-"

Scratch reached out and slapped him with the ruler across the face.

"Those who do not fulfill a purpose shall not eat." He pointed the ruler at him. Dirk's face throbbed.

 

"It seems you are not inclined to answer, so I will state this again in the form of a question. Do you want to eat?"

He hated that this was happening in front of the knight and the royal commander. He had earned a position in his garrison in the tournament, didn't this show purposefulness? He had considered himself safe belonging to them and now Doctor Scratch made his personal claim known again. Dirk bowed his head.

"If you acknowledge this amnesty and regard it as sincere, then you may choose an appropriate retribution," said Doctor Scratch, taking his bowing as sign of obedience.

"In the matter of an appropriate retribution it would only be right for him to conduct my punishment." Dirk nodded to the royal commander. As man he had diminished with age, but he was still too muscular to even slump when he sat back in front of the fireplace. He was nothing like the dwarf that was Doctor Scratch.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Sir Derse had stilled. The commander shifted his wolfish eyes from the ground to Dirk. He would have liked to know what he saw in him. 

Doctor Scratch sighed. "There is no obligation, but be my guest."

"Lad. Come. Take off your shirt. This shall come to fruition," Sir Diederick said solemnly.

Dirk complied, just when Sir Derse made his way through the room towards the door.

 

While he had raised him Doctor Scratch had been dispassionate whenever he disciplined Dirk. He let him pick the method; discussed how much punishment he deserved for his disobedience; then he let him count the lashes.

Jade had hit him too, especially early on. She didn't punish disobedience apathetically, but her strikes were reluctant. After he had finally understood what she was afraid of he thought her weak.

Sir Diederick hit him in the face first, breaking his nose. After he fell to his knees he hit his back with his bare hands. When he sagged out of the reach of his hands he started kicking him.

Dirk decided that Sir Diederick actually understood him. He wasn't afraid for him, nor of him.

  

"Are we quite done here? Are you ready to be serviceable now?"

 

Dirk shook his head, he wanted to stand up by himself, but Doctor Scratch pulled him up.

"What have you noticed?"

It was the sort of general question Doctor Scratch had often asked him as a child, but now Sir Diederick posed it. He was sitting in front of the fireplace again, unfazed.

"...It depends. Is there a particular person or location you want me to make the focus of my recollection?" Dirk asked. He had trouble breathing without getting blood into his mouth. 

Doctor Scratch interjected, "No, that would be presumptuous. You cannot tell us anything we do not know. This is merely a test of your power of observation."

Dirk hid his smile by wiping off his lips.

 

"Sire, the garrison's rations do not warrant the additional import of foodstuff that arrives every other day. If the barrels were used to smuggle other items into the castle, I supposedly did not find them when I opened five of them last week and ten the day before yesterday. You are stocking up on white flour, wine, almonds, verjuice and the like, all fine food.

There are maybe seven hundred men belonging to the castle who can carry weapons, which does not constitute a standing army. Yet these seven hundred men count thirty-one knights among them. My guess would be that the additional import of food is neither a preparation for the winter ahead, nor for a siege, nor for an outright attack."

He had refrained from mentioning Roxy and Jane. He still wasn't sure whether they had other reasons to follow Sir Derse than they had mentioned. He peered at the Sir Diederick for clues, but his face was impassive as ever. Which could be a good sign.

 

"When we came here we travelled by night. One of the men who travelled among us was... unusual," he continued.

It was only a hunch compared to his observations so far. He only based it on the first conversation he had with Sir Derse after his arrival. Otherwise he wouldn't have taken notice of the man.

"An Alternian monk, Sire. He did not stay and this stronghold lies out of his way. Did he furnish information? Are you perhaps expecting a diplomatic mission?"

Dirk had wondered about Sir Derse's sympathy for the monk and what it might say about his opinion on Alternian customs. And now he knew that Sir Derse was raising a squire with an Alternian name- Vantas. Dirk had heard that the Alternian was court opulent and lax. They worshipped many gods besides the Christian one, and above all the Empress. Hence they were liable to numerous sins, from sodomy, to polygamy, to eating babies. All in all Dirk had always wanted to visit sometime.

 

"False!" Doctor Scratch chirped.

Sir Diederick stared into the fire, "The monk had nothing to do. With the Alternian diplomatic mission that will arrive."

That of course explained the import of fine foodstuff. The composition of men-at-arms, nobles and knights afforded security without posing a purposeful threat. Warriors like Sir Derse were coincidentally castle wardens or part of the garrison, while other noblemen, like Sir Walter were useful for their reputation and diplomatic aptitude.

"I see. A carefully arranged setup that almost looks natural. You supposedly know whom to expect?"

"Yes, but that is none of your concern."

"Johannes, Despot of Nimatus," Dirk tossed in the name of the Alternian heir to gauge their reaction.

"Is that a question?" Scratch shot back, in the usual tone that made it clear that he didn't want to hear any.

Dirk went on anyway, "If you want me to go among them and earn their trust, I would need to dine with them in the hall." Or serve them.

Doctor Scratch stopped himself obligingly when Sir Diederick pursed his lips to speak, "You earn yourself that. Once you attend mass. Downstairs." He pointed his thumb downwards. 

 

After that reminder Dirk didn't bother to ask whether they wanted him specifically to garner information by seducing male Alternian diplomats.

Shortly after his arrival Dirk had taken one look at the chapel and decided not to visit the masses. It was built two stories high with the royal commander, his guests and family, his knights and friends sitting in the upper level and everyone else rubbing shoulders downstairs. 

If nobody saw him in their half of the chapel, he could always pretend to be a pious visitor of the other. Alas, he had been put into his place now.

 

Fortunately there was still a little time before the servants prepared the Great hall for the evening meal when Dirk walked out. He didn't want people to see his face like this.

He hadn't noticed how much time had passed while being shut up in the solar. He would wash himself before finding Roxy and get his letter to Jake back.

 

Dirk noticed that he was walking slowly, as if he expected the pain of the rejection to catch up with him. He quickened his steps.

No, he certainly wouldn't start caring too much now. He didn't doubt his birth right for a moment, but he had already dismissed his chances for it to be acknowledged after thirteen, fifteen and then sixteen years. Back then his solution had been to run away with Jake English and travel far East and make something out himself as merchant.

However someone had alarmed Jake's parents, so that ship had sailed without them. But given Dirk's testimony nobody would suspect that Jake was still advancing their plan. Once he was reunited with him he'd have his peace of mind back. All he needed was patience.

That... or a reliable messenger.

A messenger like the man who carried the vouch Sir Derse had requested from the English family. 

Dirk squinted his eyes at the setting sun. 

Yes, he would write another, a longer letter that would relay instructions to Jake. Much of the information he had obtained could still be useful to him after all. And he'd find some honest, tender words for him, despite of the precarious distance they'd have to travel. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Unproportionally harsh retribution was kinda the norm. Superiors and parents were considered enablers and lax if they didn't deal out corporal punishment, although small stealing delicts were often repaid with fines instead. 
> 
> 2) I based Alternia on the Byzantine Empire for this AU. The Byzantine Empire was the continuation of the Roman Empire and had its capital in today's Istanbul (Turkey) and lasted until until 1453. The kid's kingdom is probably either found in today's Britain or Germany... depending on which place's references are more readily available :P
> 
> 3) Meenah hid on the Beforan pink moon, which is apparently a photoshopped Mars, aka nīmāṭūs in Byzantine Greek. So this is indeed John Crocker of Mars. There were several Byzantine emperors who were called John, but this variation of John fits the eight letter rule for adult trolls.


End file.
